


We're On A Ship

by Miya_Morana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Monster of the Week, Self-Rescue, actual rescue, mermaid - Freeform, sex on a boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets kidnapped by a mermaid, and some boats are just too small for two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're On A Ship

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Stop Drop Howl](http://stop-drop-howl.livejournal.com/), for the prompt "sailing by starlight". Huge thanks to Akadougal for the beta. <3

She looks a little bit like Lydia, Stiles thinks. It’s the hair, strawberry blond, floating around her face, beautiful and shining slightly, even down here. If he’s honest, that’s probably the only thing they have in common, but Stiles has to cling to something, anything, so that he doesn’t have to think too much about her pale green skin, her too-big eyes, the three rows of small, pointy teeth in her mouth.

Her hand is cold and scaly in his, but he doesn’t dare let go. Her magic is the only reason he’s still alive, the only reason he doesn’t need to breathe and doesn’t feel the deep underwater pressure crushing his skull. He knows because he tried to escape, and almost drowned.

It’s just Stiles’s luck, really, to be kidnapped by a mermaid. A freaking mermaid! What is his life? Insane, that’s what his life is. And just when things were starting to look up again. The Alpha pack left Beacon Hills, Scott and Allison are talking again after Allison almost died saving Boyd and Erica from hunters, the Beacon Hills werewolves are finally acting like a real pack (Deaton’s words), and Stiles was looking forward to a little bit of peace and quiet. Let’s just say it’s the last time he suggests the whole gang goes to the beach.

They reach a rock formation and Stiles looks up to the surface and realizes they’re not as deep as they were before. There’s maybe 30 feet between him and salvation, and the rock formation is actually either a shoreline or an island. But it doesn’t matter, because the mermaid drags him through an opening in the rocks and all that’s left is darkness.

The cold air takes him by surprise when he surfaces inside the cave. His lungs struggle to breathe normally, and it takes him a few seconds to register that the mermaid let go of his hand. But now he can’t see anything at all, and he swims around frenetically looking for something to hold on, moving away from where he can hear the mermaid splashing around. He finds a flat, rock surface and drags himself onto it, breathing hard.

There’s a clicking sound and Stiles has to blink as light floods the cave. The mermaid’s holding a big flashlight, the kind they use in these documentaries about underwater wildlife his mom used to love. She looks even less human in the artificial light. Her hair, so shiny and beautiful underwater, is a tangled mess. Her skin isn’t skin at all, it’s entirely made of small, shimmery scales which could probably be called beautiful if it wasn’t on a humanoid creatures. It’s just freaky.

Stiles realizes he’s been calling the mermaid “she” in his head all along, because of the hair and the fact that it’s a freaking mermaid, but the thing in front of him doesn’t have breasts. It doesn’t have a muscular chest marking it as male either. Actually, it doesn’t have a chest at all, just sleek scales. Stiles has no idea what gender the creature in front of him is, or if it even has a gender. He would be fascinated if he weren’t scared shitless.

The mermaid might not have a chest, but it has lips, strangely. Dark, thin ones that stretch into a sort of smile, revealing one again the rows of pointy teeth in the creature’s mouth, and Stiles really wants to look away, but running around werewolves and kanimas for almost two years has taught him not to take his eyes off something that probably wants to kill him.

Then the mermaid talks. Well, at least Stiles assumes it’s some form of speech, even though he can’t make out a single word. It sounds more like some unearthly song, beautiful and captivating and slightly terrifying. The mermaid swims closer and Stiles skitters back. His back hits a wall far too fast. The mermaid cocks its head, makes a melodic sound and puts the flashlight on the cave floor. Then it disappears underwater. 

Stiles stares down at the deep pool for at least two minutes before he dares take a look around him. At second thought, he probably should have kept staring at the water pool. The cave is kind of small and the ceiling too low for him to stand in it. But that’s not the problem. The problem is what looks like human bones in the back of the cave. There are at least two bodies there, judging by the two skulls facing him. There are fish bones mingled with the human ones, and what looks like ragged clothes. No rotting flesh clinging to anything though, the bones have been picked clean.

Stiles really doesn’t want to end up as a mermaid snack. 

Swallowing around the lump of fear in his throat, Stiles picks up the flashlight and starts looking around, searching for some sharp rock maybe, anything he could use as a weapon. He can’t see anything. Crouching so he doesn’t hit his head on the low ceiling, he makes his way towards the pile of bones. He could probably use one of the bigger bones as a club, but he can’t make himself pick it up. Eventually, he grabs the rags that used to be clothes and goes through them. But if the mermaid’s previous victims had had a knife with them, they would have used it.

Stiles takes a series of deep breaths to keep the panic at bay. He can’t freak out now - if he does, he’s dead. He sits down, his back to the uneven wall of the cave, and passes the flashlight from one hand to the other while he tries to think of an escape plan. His palms are sweaty, and his grip on the heavy object slippery. He’s wiping his hands on the rags since his own swimsuit is still wet when the mermaid breaks the surface of the pool again, a large fish trapped in its teeth. The fish lands at Stiles’s feet, and Stiles wonders if this is a threat or a food offering.

The mermaid cocks its head, makes a strange, melodic sound. The gills on its neck flap open and close, like the rhythmic rise and fall of a human’s chest when they breath. Stiles looks down at the fish near his left foot, then at the flashlight in his hand. Yes, he thinks, this will have to do.

Slowly he moves to a crouching position, inching his way closer to the mermaid as he pretends to examine the dead fish. When he can’t get any closer, he grips the flashlight tight, turns sideways as fast as he can, and bashes the mermaid’s head with it.

He doesn’t take the time to check if the creature’s knocked out, dead, or just hurt. Taking a deep breath, he plunges into the pool, flashlight help before him, and follows the long path in the underwater cave. His lungs start to burn, the pressure is messing with his head as he dives deeper before reaching the exit. Refusing to drown, he kicks on the sea floor as hard as he can to propel himself up to the surface. The swim up seems to take forever, the shimmery surface getting closer and closer and closer, until there are dark spots in front of Stiles’s eyes. He wonders if he’ll drown a mere two feet away from air.

And suddenly he’s breaking free of the water. The air fills his lungs, his arms haphazardly splash around him, and it’s nothing like earlier in the cave, when the mermaid’s magic had kept him from feeling the effects of the lack of oxygen. Dark spots still dance in front of his eyes, and his limbs are aching, but he forces himself to swim to the shore, praying that the mermaid can’t walk on dry land. To his right, the sun is setting over the ocean. His island is nothing but a dry pile of rocks, and the coast is nowhere to be seen. As he collapses next to a boulder, he wonders if he’s just going to die from thirst and starvation up here instead of inside the cave. Well, at least he won’t get eaten, and maybe someone will find his body, someday.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opens them again all the evening light is gone, and there’s something crouching over him. Stiles raises the hand still holding the flashlight and tries to smack the creature again, but a hand catches his wrist in mid-air, stops it with a supernatural strength. A hand. A warm hand, made of rough skin, not the scaly, cold, palmed hand of the mermaid. Stiles clicks the flashlight on and he’s greeted by Derek’s sullen face.

A small, hysterical laugh escapes his mouth as he throws his free arm around Derek’s neck and gives him the most awkward hug in the history of forever. The werewolf stays stiff, his fingers tight around Stiles’s wrist as Stiles buries his face against the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

“I’ve never been so happy to see your grumpy face,” he says, eventually, letting go of Derek’s shirt.

“Where is it?” Derek growls, low.

“Probably somewhere in that underwater cave. I think I knocked it out, because it would have caught me when I fled otherwise.” Stiles shrugs. “Maybe it’s dead.”

Derek gets up, and since he’s still holding Stiles’s wrist he drags him up with him. Stiles’s legs hurt, either from the swimming or the falling asleep in a weird position or both, and he stretches them.

“How did you find me?” he asks, swiping the small island with his flashlight.

There’s a very small sailboat that’s been dragged on the shore, the kind they use to teach kids how to sail. They have a name, Stiles’s pretty sure of it, but he’s too tired to remember what it is.

“I’m the Alpha,” Derek shrugs as they start walking towards the boat, Derek’s fingers still on Stiles’s wrist though less tight.

“Yeeah, you do realize that doesn’t answer the question one bit, right?”

Derek stops, turns to face Stiles, and he looks irritated. It’s familiar and reassuring after the alienness of the mermaid’s face.

“You’re pack, you were in distress, I followed my instinct,” he explains.

Stiles stares at him.

“I’m pack?”

“Of course you’re pack, moron,” Derek replies, rolling his eyes dramatically then turning around and starting back towards the boat, which the reach in three more steps. It’s a really small island.

Derek lets go of his wrist to push the boat back into the water, and Stiles touches it absentmindedly. Isaac, Boyd and Erica have been treating him like part of the group for a while now, and of course he’s always been pack for Scott, even before the bite. Even Peter, in his creepy way, has been acting as if he was one of them. But then, Peter’s always wanted Stiles in his pack. Derek... Derek has just been Derek, all long glares and rude comments and badly presented over-protectiveness. His attitude towards Stiles hasn’t changed at all since Scott actually joined his pack. But maybe because it changed before that, when Derek started actually listening to Stiles. Suddenly, Stiles wonders if he might have joined Derek’s pack even before Scott did.

Stiles never learned how to sail, but apparently Derek has, because he manoeuvers the small sail easily enough. Looking up at the stars above them, he sets a course in the direction Stiles thinks is west, judging from where he can remember the sun setting.

“How come you didn’t come swimming?” Stiles asks, not really expecting Derek to reply with more than a grunt.

“And have to fight a mermaid in water?” Derek replies, looming over Stiles. The dinghy isn’t made for two, so with Stiles on the small bench Derek has nowhere to sit down.

“Yeah, that would have been bad,” Stiles has to admit, trying to keep his eyes up to the werewolf’s face and not his crotch, which is _right there_. “Plus, you’d have had to drag me back to shore since I surely can’t swim for as long as you.”

“I don’t know,” Derek smirks. “You’re a good swimmer.”

Stiles remembers treading water for two hours in the swimming pool, while holding a paralyzed Derek up and praying the kanima really doesn’t know how to swim. He rubs his neck, not knowing what to say to that, and his eyes end up on Derek’s crotch again. The fact that Derek too is still only wearing a swimsuit isn’t helping anything. Stiles makes an effort to look up, even though his neck hurts.

“Won’t you sit down?” he asks eventually, because it’s getting really awkward for him.

“Where?” Derek says with a mocking smirk.

Stiles sighs and gets up. The dinghy rocks under them and he has to grab Derek’s arms to keep his balance. Since he already has a hold on the werewolf, Stiles manoeuvers them so that they switch places, then presses on Derek’s shoulder. Derek takes the hint and sits down. Which means that now it’s Derek’s head that’s at the same level as Stiles’s crotch, and yeah, that’s a pretty sight.

Stiles shakes his head, because this is probably not the time to have a hopeless erection. He looks down at the floor under their feet. There’s not a lot of room, but he’s skinny, so it should work.

“Spread...spread your legs,” he says, feeling his cheeks blush, and he keeps the flashlight aimed down at Derek’s face, hoping it’ll blind him enough he doesn’t realize Stiles is as red as Lydia’s favorite lipstick.

Derek squints, but does as he’s told, and Stiles gulps. But he lowers himself to the floor and sits down in front of Derek, the werewolf’s legs on either side of him. After a little while, he even dares to rest his elbows on Derek’s knees.

Derek raises a hand and leans forward a little, readjusting the sail behind Stiles.

“An Optimist!” Stiles exclaims suddenly.

“What?” Derek looks slightly confused.

“It’s the name of these small sailing dinghies,” Stiles explains. “I couldn’t remember it until now.”

“You could have asked,” Derek shrugs.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, he isn’t quite sure why, when the flashlight suddenly dies. It doesn’t even give any warning sign, like a flicker or dimming light, it just stops working.

“Crap,” he says, and drops it to the floor. It rolls into a corner.

Stiles knows it’ll take his eyes a few minutes to get used to the dark, whereas Derek can probably see him perfectly well already. It’s kind of unfair. Sighing, Stiles drops his head backwards and looks up at the night sky. If he wanted, he could name all of these stars, the constellations they form, even the distance separating some of them from the Earth. He learned all that one night when he couldn’t sleep, not long after his mom died, and hasn’t forgotten any of it.

“My brain is weird,” he states out loud, because it’s true.

“You could say that,” Derek replies, and even though his tone is mocking, it’s also soft. Friendly, maybe?

 _Are we friends?_ Stiles wants to ask, but instead what comes out of his mouth is “How long until we reach the coast?”

Derek doesn’t reply immediately, so Stiles looks back down at the alpha’s face, bathed in starlight. He’s kind of breath-taking. Derek averts his eyes, as if Stiles had caught him staring, and sighs.

“If the wind holds, a couple of hours probably.”

Of course the wind doesn’t hold, because they can never have nice things. Not even ten minutes later, there’s no wind at all. The Optimist’s sail stays completely flat, no matter what Derek tries. Stiles vaguely wonders if they’ll die from thirst when the sun rises.

The silence on the boat is deafening. Stiles fidgets, hating not to be able to do anything. He picks at the hem of his swimming shorts, draws random patterns on his knee with his fingernails, absentmindedly lets his fingertips explore the skin over tight muscles right above Derek’s knee. He only realizes what he’s doing when his eyes meet Derek’s.

It’s always difficult to read Derek, but it’s even harder with the night sky as their only light source. Stiles’s hand freezes in place, and he starts taking it back when Derek grabs his wrist again and slowly puts Stiles’s hand back on his lower thigh. Then guides it slightly upwards.

Stiles’s breath catches in his throat. Slowly, he spreads his fingers, starts tentatively caressing Derek’s skin. Derek makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat and, without breaking eye contact with Stiles, he spreads his legs a little more.

Stiles shifts until he’s kneeling, closer to Derek than before. One of Derek’s hands finds its way to the back of Stiles’s neck as he bends down to capture Stiles’s lips with his own. It’s not Stiles’s first kiss, but it’s the first one that doesn’t result from a spinning bottle at a party. Derek’s body is warm against his, and his own hands try to be everywhere: up Derek’s thigh, pressed against Derek’s chest, tightened around the muscles of his arm, behind Derek’s neck, combing through Derek’s hair... He’s allowed to touch, he’s _welcome_ to touch, and he’s determined to make the most of it, because this is Derek freaking Hale, who he’s been attracted to even before he stopped being afraid of him, even before he started to actually like him, Derek Hale who’s sucking on his lower lip, groaning softly in his throat when Stiles presses their bodies together.

Fuck, Stiles can feel Derek’s erection though his swimming shorts, and he moans softly, rubbing his own dick against the hard length.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes against his lips.

“Yes?” Stiles asks teasingly, because as crazy as it sounds it seems like he’s the one with the power here.

“You’re killing me,” Derek groans, rubbing back against Stiles, his fingers digging is Stiles’s waist, just above the swim shorts.

“You’re one to talk,” Stiles says, kissing Derek’s jaw, nipping at it. He slips a finger into Derek’s waistband and tugs slightly on it. “You’re the one with the supernatural senses. How long have you known I wanted you and not done anything, huh?”

“Too long,” Derek admits, thrusting up. The tip of Stiles’s finger brushes against the head of Derek’s cock, warm and already slick with precome.

Stiles hisses and plunges his hand inside Derek’s shorts, wraps his fingers around his long, large cock. He’s rewarded by the filthiest moan he’s ever heard as Derek thrusts up into his hand. But Stiles wants to see, as much as possible in the darkness, so he moves back a little and, with his free hand, starts tugging Derek’s shorts down.

Derek helps him out, but there’s so little room on the boat and Stiles is still kneeling between Derek’s legs with nowhere else to go, so they only manage to bring it down to the top of Derek’s thighs. It’s okay though, because now Stiles can see. And Derek is magnificent.

“Are you going to stare at it until the end of time or actually _do_ something?” Derek complains.

“Both, both is good,” Stiles says, then chuckles lightly. He tries to scoot back and lean down, but there’s not enough room and the position is awkward, so he tells Derek to get up. The boat rocks dangerously, but it allows them to get rid of Derek’s shorts. Then Stiles likes his lips and presses them against the head of Derek’s cock. Derek moans, grabbing Stiles’s shoulders for support while Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s muscled ass and darts his tongue out.

He licks, kisses then suckles on the head, drawing delicious sounds from Derek. His own dick is aching, begging for attention, but he’s afraid if he lets go of Derek the boat will rock again, so he focuses on the task at hand and let his mouth slide down around Derek’s cock. It’s huge and heavy against his tongue, but the whole thing is so much better than he had imagined. One of Derek’s hands is in his hair, holding on more than tugging or directing him or anything.

Stiles bobs his head up and down, trying to get a good rhythm, trying to get more of Derek inside his mouth, but it isn’t easy. Eventually he stops moving, takes a deep breath through his nose, and relaxes his throat as much as he can, slowly sliding down. He stops for a little while when Derek’s cock presses against the back of his throat, takes another deep breath through his nose, then tentatively swallows. Derek moans loudly, digging his fingers into Stiles’s shoulder, and Stiles does it again. He can feel Derek’s cock starting to slide deeper into his throat, and it’s so hot his own cock pulses.

“Stiles,” Derek moans, breathless, as Stiles slowly, carefully swallows him deeper, until Stiles’s nose is buried into the wiry hair of Derek’s crotch. Derek’s legs are trembling, Stiles can feel it. He swallows a couple more time around Derek’s cock, then slowly lets go. There’s an obscene ‘pop’ when Derek’s dick slides out of Stiles’s mouth, leaving saliva all over Stiles’s chin.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Derek breathes out, looking down at Stiles and caressing his cheek.

“Neither did I,” Stiles grins cheekily. “My jaw kind of hurts though.”

Derek slides down to his knees to face Stiles and kisses him.

“Touch me,” Stiles moans between two kisses, and then Derek’s hands are pushing down his shorts and his fingers wrap around Stiles’s cock and oh yeah, that’s it, that’s the stuff. Stiles is vaguely aware that he’s babbling and he doesn’t even care.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Derek breathes seductively in his ear. “Or what you want to do to me.”

“There’s not enough room for that,” Stiles says cheekily. “And we would need lube.”

“And what would you do if we had lube and room?” Derek asks, biting on Stiles’s earlobe as he jacks him off slowly.

“I would, ah, I would take my time. Explore every inch of your body. I would, oh yes do that again! If you let me, I would spread your legs and stretch you up with my fingers and my mouth, then take you slowly,” Stiles says, emboldened by the way Derek sucks on his neck, the way his hand moves on Stiles’s cock, tugging, playing, caressing. “Or I would help you prepare me, then ride your cock, slow and steady at first then hard and fast. Either. Both. Whichever you want.”

“Both,” Derek groans against Stiles’s neck. “Both is good.”

Stiles chuckles, then grabs Derek’s cock and starts jacking him again. Soon they’re panting too much to talk anymore, and when Derek throws his head back, eyes closed as he tightens up and comes all over Stiles’s hand, Stiles can’t help staring in awe. Then Derek is staring back, and there’s a promise in those eyes, and Stiles can only thrust into the werewolf’s hand once, twice, then he’s coming apart.

His orgasm hits him hard, and he clings to Derek as the boat rocks under them. Then when the last waves of pleasure are gone, he just collapses against Derek, burying his stupid, dopey smile against the werewolf’s neck. Derek is still breathing hard, his chest moving up and down against Stiles’s as he wraps his arms around him. They stay like that for a little while, until something soft hits the back of Stiles’s head.

“The sail!” Stiles exclaims as he turns around to watch the fabric billow in a fresh breeze.

When he looks back at Derek, the werewolf is smiling. It’s a small smile, miles away from Stiles’s own grin, but still, Stiles can’t help but press a loud, smacking kiss on those gorgeous lips. 

They quickly clean themselves with sea water and puts their swimsuits back on, then Derek makes sure the sail catches as much wind as possible to push them back towards the coast. They might end up pretty far from where they left, what with all the drifting, but it won’t matter too much.

“Where did you even find this boat?” Stiles asks, sitting back down between Derek’s legs.

“There’s a sailing school a few miles north of the beach. Laura and I used to go there when we were kids.”

“I wish I knew how to sail,” Stiles says softly. “I love being on a boat.”

“I could teach you,” Derek offers, eyes fixed toward the horizon.

Stiles follows his gaze. The sky is slowly getting lighter in the east, and if he squints, he can see the coast line.

“I think I’d like that,” he says with a smile, turning back to Derek.

Derek smiles back.


End file.
